


Help Me, Help Me

by orphan_account



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Unethical Science, and also scientifically founded psychological abuse, because growing up lamia must've been a riot, seriously it's all bad science here but i tried not to be graphic, so just general nongraphic but awful science on living test subjects, unnamed lamia deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 17:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Five scenes of survival. Raised in these sorts of conditions, the Lamia do what they can to help one another stay alive.





	Help Me, Help Me

**( o n e )**

Eventually, the test subject stops fighting. The scientists pull him up from under the water and attempt resuscitation, but it doesn't work. So Huey says to record the results and dispose of the materials.

Christopher doesn't mind watching because the Poet is beside him. Christopher's fingers wrap themselves in the fabric of the Poet's shirt, so huge that it would drown him like the water drowned that other homunculus (Christopher knows this: he has tried the shirt on because you only know things for sure when you test them and get proof) and he leans against the Poet. He only comes up to the Poet's leg, but that just makes him the perfect size for the Poet to pat him on the head. 

"Christopher." Salome smiles kindly at Christopher. That doesn't mean anything; Salome always smiles at them with love and care. "Will you help carry these materials away?"

Christopher nods quickly.

"Poet." Huey has no emotion in his voice or face, just that faint, doll-like expression. "We need you in the fourth laboratory now."

Grandly, the Poet tips his hat in a bow to Huey and says, "Prithee, ask any service of me; you stir my spirit as the winds of Mexico stir life into wilting reeds." 

Christopher looks up at the Poet a moment. He gathers himself together, bows to Salome like the Poet did to Huey, and sweeps an arm out and up to his chest so his gesture is even more grand. "Mayhaps the stars have blessed me for such a task to come my way!"

The Poet smiles at Christopher, and Christopher feels like he did the right thing, but he can only half smile back. As his fingers untangle from the Poet's shirt so they can both follow their orders, he whispers so that Salome and Huey won't hear him, "Are you going to die too?"

The Poet gives Christopher's hair one last ruffle before walking away. Christopher's eyes flicker to Salome. Salome is watching him. Christopher bites his tongue and hides his fear and runs to the body instead of chasing after the Poet. If the Poet is going to die, Christopher doesn't want to think about it, and he doesn't want to let Salome know he is upset. 

And then he hears the Poet, speaking as if for all the world as he strides to the next laboratory over. "O, Heaven above! Do you accept those who surrender to your will? We endure forevermove, and foreverlong does our suffering last. I beseech you for your strength. Grant unto me the will to live, and never shall I perish but by your command." 

"Christopher," comes Salome's gentle reminder, and Christopher jumps to attention. He smiles at Salome and follows the scientist's directions on how to dispose of the one who had given up on surviving. 

 

**( t w o )**

Obediently, Christopher followed Huey into the glass room. Obediently, Christopher allowed Huey to inject something unknown into his arm. Obediently, Christopher stayed in the room when Huey sealed the door with no instructions or explanations.

And now he can't breathe. 

No, he has to breathe. But he can't breathe this. The gas is burning his eyes. It hurts, it hurts . . .

He has to be stronger than his pain. He has to breathe, he has to stay alive. He doesn't want to die.

Christopher closes his eyes. The smoke came in from a vent at the top of the room and it fell to the floor. It must be heavier than air. Is the air draining out? No, this is a sealed room. It will be compressing. Unless it goes out the same vent where the gas comes in?

It hurts, it hurts . . .

Christopher covers his mouth and nose with a sleeve (the Poet's clothes, they almost fit him now). Corner of the room, one foot on each wall. He can do this. He is strong and he wants to live. With hands and feet, Christopher climbs to the top and presses his hands hard against the wall. It hurts and it's still getting into his lungs but it's less. He closes his eyes and he realizes he should have torn off his sleeve to cover his mouth and nose before he got up here. He wants to stop fighting. He wants to let go and make the burning stop.

He wants to live. 

Christopher ducks his head under his shirt collar and pulls it up by the nose. He breathes through the cloth, and he doesn't sing out loud but in his head he writes a song about all the flowers he has seen outside the labs and all their names. He makes meanings up, he makes rhymes that shouldn't be, he makes a picture in his head of the flowers without the laboratory in the background. Christopher starts coughing and there is barely anywhere left, but he is singing in his head and he won't let his trembling limbs surrender. It hurts, it hurts, but he wants to live. 

Christopher's fingers try to dig into walls that offer nothing to grip. He stays still, and he can hardly breathe, but it's just enough to keep him alive. Is Chi still outside watching? Christopher wonders if Huey brings them to watch in case clean-up is needed, or if it's just an experiment to see what seeing the others suffer will do to their minds.

"Christopher." Christopher's eyes instinctively open at Huey's voice, but he can't see anything. But Huey's in the room? So he can breathe again? "Christopher, the experiment is over. You can come down now."

And instead of falling, Christopher slides down to the ground, a carefully performed descent that ignores the way his head is aching and his throat is burning and his eyes are stinging and sightless. Every part of him is shaking, but he turns to where he knows Huey is, and he bows with a florid wave of his arm. His lungs scream when he speaks. "As always, it is an honour to be a part of your experiments, Master Huey." 

He stays standing. He won't collapse. He isn't weak. There are familiar footsteps approaching, and then he hears it in his ear: "Idiot." Chi's arms wrap around Christopher, and suddenly Christopher is over Chi's shoulder. 

"Wow," Christopher says, not recognizing his own voice in how it rasps. "Don't you think this is too forward? Ask me to dinner first, Chi!" 

"Chi, take Christopher to his room. Christopher, please come here tomorrow at noon for another experiment."

Before Christopher can try to find the air to deliver his joy at being able to serve Huey again, Chi answers for him, "He will." 

So Christopher holds his breath until the footsteps tell him that they're in the hallway without the scientists. It is only there that he lets himself cough, and he coughs until he can't think, until the world is all black and his head pounds and he thinks he must have missed a few minutes there because when he has his senses again, he has been lain in bed and Chi is sitting beside him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Chi covers it.

"Your lungs are burned. Stay quiet for once."

Christopher's laugh turns into a choking sob. He reaches out, but his muscles are all too tired to grip anything. Without another word, Chi takes hold of Christopher's hand.

 

**( t h r e e )**

Christopher will be asked to take away the body. He stands at Master Huey's side and thinks that won't be much trouble. Mina's throwing knife lodges into Chi's arm, Chi's claws narrowly miss Mina's throat. Christopher watches and thinks about how much fun it would be to have a play fight against them both.

Of course, that won't be possible. Salome was clear. They are to fight to the death. No one told them why or what the experiment is testing. Is it to see how well they fought when their lives are on the line, or to learn whether they're capable of turning on their own, or simply to weed out weaker subjects so the scientists can concentrate on the stronger ones? Christopher didn't ask, and neither did Mina or Chi.

Mina tears a gash across Chi's throat. Chi presses a hand to the cut and disembowels Mina. She gets a knife into his gut before he takes a swing that severs her head from her neck. Without a trace of emotion, Chi turns to Huey and waits for his next command. And Christopher smiles, because Salome will stitch up Chi's wounds and in a few weeks they can go out on missions together again. Besides, Mina is lighter to carry than Chi.

"Christopher, help Chi to the operating table." 

It's not the order Christopher expected, but Huey's words are Christopher's laws of the universe. Christopher skips over to Chi's side and presses his hand to cover the gash in Chi's neck and stem the blood flow. "That was incredible! It was magnificent. If I were attracted to men, I'd have fainted on the spot. You're so remarkable, Chi! One day, you might even be half as remarkable as I am!" (Chi's throat is too torn for him to risk speaking, but Christopher gets a glare.)

"And Christopher?"

Christopher's smile stays in place as his head swivels to Huey.

"I'd like you to treat his injuries. You've paid attention to Salome's work, haven't you?"

Christopher looks at Chi. There is no hint of fear or anger in his eyes. Christopher thinks, if he fails, Chi will understand.

Or at least, that's what he wants to believe. He doesn't move his hand from Chi's throat, but he bows to Huey as much as he can. "What greater pleasure is there than to both obey you and help a friend in need? Come along, Chi!" He takes Chi away from Mina's head, and when Christopher picks up the thread and needle, he does not look at the golden eyes that are watching them both. Christopher isn't willing to be uncertain. If he is to be Master Huey's greatest creation, Salome's masterpiece, he must perform every task he is given perfectly. He doesn't want to be a failure.

He doesn't want Chi to die.

"As I'm demonstrating this great gesture of our bond," he tells Chi, "You have to come out to the forest with me when we're done and see my favourite flowers."

Christopher threads a needle through Chi's skin; Chi doesn't scream or cry or curse him. That's right; they won't cry ever again. Christopher and Chi can't cry anymore, and they will never hesitate to follow orders, and their hands will never shake or freeze. As the blood covers Christopher's skin, he reminds himself that he and Chi are both survivors. Chi won't die because Chi has the will to live. That cooling corpse on the floor is proof.

 

**( f o u r )**

"She is a failure," they hear through the door. Christopher and Chi don't exchange glances. "I'd prefer not to waste materials. Exchange Sickle for Adele for the acid experiment and tell her to help Chi and Christopher instead."

A moment later, Salome steps out of the laboratory with a paper that he hands to Christopher. He is smiling at them, but Christopher feels like he is vivisected by that expression. He doesn't let himself think that he'd rather kill Salome than let that man understand his thoughts.

"The details of your mission are here. Remember that the important thing is to kill the family while the boy is in the house. We would prefer if you kill his older brother in front of him, but another family member will do, as long as he is witness. Did you hear what we were discussing?"

Before Chi can answer, Christopher says, "If you'd like us to bring our dear Sickle along, we'd be glad to have her with us! She is always in such a sour mood that a fun mission to act out the will of Master Huey should be just the thing to cheer her up."

Their senses are perfect. Salome has to know that. They are smart and strong and capable. They're good, they're useful, they're not failures. 

Salome's scalpel smile widens, and Christopher doesn't even think of shuddering. "I hope it does cheer her up. Please report back to us when you're done."

When they go to Sickle to tell her, she only spares Adele a moment of pity. "She'll just have to kick her way out of it," Sickle says. She falls in at Christopher's left as Chi walks on his right. The insulation is good in the complex, but they have to walk past the laboratories to leave. They can hear Adele sobbing.

Christopher spins around to smile at Sickle and Chi with his mouth now full of sharpened teeth. "Let's bring her back a present! While I'm sure Adele is a strong girl, what is family but a means by which to increase your chances of survival?"

Sickle scoffs. "Don't talk rot. What kind of 'family' abandons a sibling to suffer and audaciously brings back a gift?"

But Christopher just smiles wider as a sob turns into a scream. "When amphibians like toads reproduce, they have hundreds and hundreds of eggs. From the perspective of the mother, she takes less care of the children, but increases the probability that at least a few will survive predators. But I thought, what about from the perspective of the brothers and sisters? From their point of view, isn't it natural to hope that the predators eat your siblings instead of you? Encouraging Adele to keep living is the best thing we can do for our own survival. Of course, I'll be equally happy if she eventually loses the attention of scientists whom I'd never call predators and is able to join us in our flock of killer butterflies."

Chi and Sickle are both staring. After a moment, Chi shakes his head. "I'm amazed you can say something like that shamelessly."

"I'm amazed you can use such a stupid analogy. Stop talking nonsense." 

Christopher just chuckles at their comments and leads them out into the world beyond the laboratories. And as they travel, he goads them into conversation about possible presents, and eventually, he gets them to answer him. Christopher might abandon a friend to Hell, but he certainly won't come back to her empty handed.

 

**( f i v e )**

Tiny fingers wrap themselves in his shirt as they watch the scientists set up the laboratory for the next experiment. "I want to dress like you!" insists the child who has named himself Rail. "Let me borrow your shirt, c'mon."

"My, you've certainly gotten aggressive now. I don't believe that's how I taught you to ask for things at all." Christopher strokes back Rail's hair, careful not to pull too hard at Rail's skin. The cuts from the scalpels have all been stitched up. They should start to heal soon, and it will be as if they were never there.

"Ugh, fine. _Please_? But you have to! I was talking to Chi and Chi says you used to wear the Poet's clothes when you were my age!" 

"Wow, that hardly sounds like a request either. Is this what is called a child's rebellious age? Besides, I was bigger than you are when I was your age, so I fit into the Poet's clothes better."

"I bet I can fit into your clothes just fine!" Rail prods at Christopher with a lacerated hand. "Chris, let me borrow your stuff!"

Christopher laughs and takes Rail's hands in his so that Rail doesn't make those injuries any worse. "I should say 'no' just because you're so pushy. But all right! After this experiment, I'll lend my clothing to you. You can show them to everyone and see how well you fit into the shoes of Christopher Shouldered!"

Salome says, "I'm sorry to interrupt you both, but Rail is needed for the experiment now." Christopher has to let go of Rail's little hands so that Salome can take them. But Rail isn't shaking, and all his fear is hidden. His eyes are narrowed, expression flat. 

After all, what can they really do to him? Rail doesn't feel pain. And Christopher knows that Rail won't give up and die.

Not yet dismissed, Christopher stands still and watches them strap Rail to the operating table. He stands there as they roll up a cart next to the table. It isn't scalpels this time: the cart is full of bags of something. He wonders what's inside and decides it's better not to wonder.

"Oh, Christopher," says Salome. "Come here, won't you?"

Obediently, he smiles at Salome and steps over to the operating table. When he looks down at Rail, he tries to reassure him with his expression. It will be all right.

"We're short-handed today," Salome explains, looking between them with that constant, loving smile as if waiting to see how they'll react. "We need you to help us conduct the experiment. Rub this into Rail's cuts. Rail, please tell us if you feel anything." 

Christopher looks at Rail again. Rail gives the tiniest of smiles, or at least, Christopher thinks Rail does. It is hard to tell with that cut that turns Rail's mouth into a perpetual smile. 

"It is always a pleasure to offer assistance," Christopher says, and he takes the salt that Salome offers him. Christopher obeys his orders. He always does.

Rail tells the scientists, "I don't feel anything." 

Not looking at Salome, Christopher slips his free hand to Rail's hair and strokes it back. It's not against orders. He can give Rail that comfort at least.

Rail says, "I don't feel anything at all."

Rail's smile is dragged up by the stitches at the mouth. Christopher's smile is made of sharpened teeth. Neither of them will die because neither of them will surrender. 

It's all right. They are going to live. They want to survive. And because they want to survive, they have each accepted that some things have to die along the way.


End file.
